


Haven

by DemonAngelSakina



Category: Original Work
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Light in the darkness, Scars, Smoking, Yuri, after battle, but not the sex kind, demon hunter - Freeform, devil hunter, introspective, shower scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 20:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15804018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonAngelSakina/pseuds/DemonAngelSakina
Summary: This was her home...her haven against the darkness that enslaved her...and she would do anything to protect it.





	Haven

Storm clouds hung heavily overhead as the rain poured down--it was as if the heavens above were weeping in sorrow for the world; rapid bursts of lightning illuminated the abysmal darkness that engulfed the city as the thunder crashed through the former silence. No one sane should be out tonight; there are simply too many evil things lurking in the darkness--too many demons and devils wreaking havoc tonight...but, no one ever said those who hunt in the darkness are sane.

The violent storm drowned out the gunshots and the inhuman screaming, the pouring rain washing away the blood and the shells from the discarded bullets; the abyss uses the darkness in attempt to conquer the light...uses the moon, unwillingly, to attempt to conquer the sun...but not all denizens of the darkness are willing to conquer. Some crave the light--desperately seeking it out in hopes of finding a haven against the darkness; some thrist to be bathed in the warmth of the sun rather than left numbed by the icy glow of the moon.

A black combat boot crushed down on an inhuman skull--shattering the fleshless thing to black ash as the rain poured down. The owner of the boot let loose a howl of laughter before ejecting the spent clip from the heavy handgun in her hand; heavily lined, mismatched blue and silver eyes glared from under a drenched silver mane as the skeletal creatures staggered forward like marionettes on fraying strings. She smirked and loaded a fresh clip into the gun, drawing out the second gun with practiced liquid grace before running towards the creatures--gunfire drowned out by the rolling thunder crashing down once again.

The storm never let up, even when the battle was finally done. The woman holstered her guns, sweeping her mid-back-length mane out of her face and tilting her face up to the pouring rain as the black blood and ash was washed away. Her eyes were closed as the rain fell hard enough to shroud everything around her fridgid mist--her clothing clinging to her athletic frame as the lightning danced across the sky. With a sigh of pure pleasure passing her lips, she raked her tanned, calloused fingers through her hair--ridding herself of some of the tangles that had formed--and began walking back along the empty street, humming as she seemingly danced beneath the raging storm despite the bitter cold that seeped into her very bones.

How long the walk took, she didn't care, as she made her way, finally, up the aged brick stoop of the building; the rusty gate infront of the door groaned as it was pushed back, the aged steel doors refusing to budge. The woman glared at the door before drawing back and slamming a hard kick into the door--finally forcing the heavy door loose enough to open. She stepped inside, shutting the gate and kicking the door shut behind her; a groan left her as the chill in the garage area hit her full force--the cold forcing it's way through her soaked clothing to her equally soaked flesh. She scowled and tilted her head forward--pulling her silver mane over one shoulder and proceeding to wring the long locks out, a puddle of ice-cold water forming beneath her feet on the concrete.

She tossed her hair back over shoulder as she made her way up the staircase--making a note to, one day, demand that the old elevator be fixed. Two flights of stairs later, and she was practically dragging herself down the hallway to the apartment, her muscles and bones beginning to ache from the movements. She stopped to lean against the cold steel door, seemingly letting herself become completely numbed by the chill that she had already endured--maybe she should invest in an actual coat for weather like this instead of her usual purple leather vest...but she shook the thought away, unlocking the door and making her way inside--no matter what she wore, she was always cold.

Only the light in the entrance way was on in the loft--casting just enough light so that she could see what she was doing as she leaned on the wall to unlace her combat boots, toeing the battered steel-toes off. With a sigh, she stooped and set the boots upright--normally, she didn't care, but some people, as it turned out, were sticklers for tidiness. The cropped leather vest came off next, draped over the hook on the wall to dry; the leather gun belt followed, laid to rest on the table in the entryway; off came the spiked leather wristband, leather bracer, and dog collar--all laid out on the table near the gunbelt. A small sigh left tan lips as she walked across the hardwood floor and into the bathroom--turning on the hot water in the open shower.

As steam began to fill the room, the woman undid the leather belt secured in the loops of the ripped and frayed, black-stained, dark-washed jeans she wore; tanned hands rose to lift the scarlet-hued long tube-top off and discard the tight material to the side. She looked in the steamed up mirror, scowling at the four long gashes along her side--one of the damn things had gotten too close...maybe she was getting old? She shook her head and pulled off the black leather glove from her right hand--opening the door to momentarilly discard it onto the small table outside the bathroom--then removed the fishnet glove from her left hand. Off came the jeans--thrown onto the growing pile near the inside of the door; she scowled at the row of fresh, bloody teeth marks on her calf. A small wince formed as she began taking in the assortment of old bruises and scabbed over wounds covering her athletic frame, cataloging the new wounds and bruises--the gashes on her side and bite wounds on her calf would have to be stitched...great. 

Atleast she didn't have to resort to cauterizing anything like last month--even she wasn't sure how long her stomach would hold up to the smell of her own flesh burning.

She finished stripping, removing the silver jewelry--the thick armband and four bangle-like armbands came first, set on the counter of the sink; out came the small hoop earrings--tanned fingers momentarilly playing with the silver bullet charm on the left one before laying both earrings next to the armbands; next were the five silver rings--each different...each with an amuletic purpose--then the short steel chain necklace. She though for a moment about removing the set of dogtags from her neck, but shook the thought away--when had she ever removed them? Answer...never.

She forced open the cabinet and pulled out the medical supplies; too many years on this job had drained away the need to think as she began cleaning the gashes on her side. The needle was soon threaded and she studied the wound as she pushed the needle through the flesh--beginning the almost agonizingly slow task of stitching the wounds closed. When the gashes were finished, she knealt down and proceeded to stitch the bite wounds on her leg--atleast these wounds would require less time than the gashes had. When she was finished, she put the supplies up and stepped into the shower--the water almost scaldingly hot; a quick flick of the cold water and the temperature became more tolerable...the heat soaking into her and chasing away the cold and numbness, even if only for a bit. She tilted her head back as the water beat down over her face--tanned hands pressed to the warm tiles as if she were trying to leech the warmth for herself.

When she was finished, she ran a towel over herself--taking care with drying off the freshly stitched wounds and other cuts and bruises--before tossing the towel onto the pile with her clothes and walking out of the bathroom, stalking across the floor and into the kitchen. She pulled a beer bottle from the fridge, twisting off the cap and leaning back against the counter as she sipped the cold liquid--watching the storm beat down against the wall of windows across the room, the lightning illuminating the loft with each flash. She scowled and set the bottle down, fishing a pack of cigarettes and a Zippo lighter from a drawer, lighting the small brown cylinder the second she put it to her lips--she was still too wired from the earlier work..her nerves still shot and her adrenaline still racing in her veins as she took a long drag on the cigarette.

By the time she had finished her cigarette and beer, the storm was beginning to ebb and the heat from her shower had left her completely--the frigid cold returning at full-force. She tossed the bottle and stubbed out the cigarette before trekking across the room to the winding, wrought iron staircase; she trekked up the stairs, raking her fingers through the damp waves of her hair as she tried to remove the rest of the tangles. She stepped onto the landing of the bedroom and walked across the space to sit on the side of the queen-sized bed, looking down at the figure already curled up safe and warm beneath the sheets and thick blankets--a small part of her almost envied them...safety and warmth were such precious things...things she had been denied for so very long.

A small smile formed on her face as she leaned over, brushing away long locks of ink-black hair and pressing a gentle kiss to a pale temple. Sleepy golden-brown eyes fluttered open at the gentle touch, locking with mismatched blue and silver; slowly the young woman turned over and sat up, placing a delicate hand against a tanned cheek.

"You are finally home. I was growing worried." Came the softly accented voice of the Japanese woman; the other turned her head and gently kissed pale fingertips, her Italian accent as smooth as silk.

"Sorry, caro; the job took far longer than even I anticipated."

The paler woman moved close and embraced the tanned one, clutching to her as if her will alone could keep her beloved safely in their home; tanned arms wrapped around the nightgown-clad form, holding the slender woman close.

"Now, now, amore mio--no need to begin to cry. You know that I refuse to die until I am ready."

"I know, I know...but can you blame me for my worries, Krov?" Came the quiet words; Krov frowned but kept her arms firmly around her beloved.

"No, my dear Kaiya; no I cannot." Krov whispered as she shifted to lay down beneath the blankets, Kaiya moving in quickly to curl up with her beneath then bedding. Krov looked down at her lover as the younger woman finally began to drift off to sleep again, a faint smile forming on the elder woman's face as she finally felt the cold and numbness leave her body from her beloved's presence--the aches and pains from her injuries weren't even registering with her mind, as if they too had been soothed by the other's warmth.

"I can never blame you for anything, amore mio...and I am sorry I worry you so." She whispered to the night as she finally let herself drift to sleep--here...this was the only place she felt safe and warm in the world...this, here with her Kaiya, this was her home...her haven against the darkness that enslaved her...and she would do anything to protect it.

**Author's Note:**

> "Krov" is one of my favorite OCs--originally inspired by playing way too much Devil May Cry and Shin Megami Tensei--so it personally shocked me when I realized I had only ever drawn her once...and had never written about her, which I had to rectify immediately.  
> In all honesty, I have really wanted to explore her character more--and including one of the biggest parts of her life, her girlfriend Kaiya, just became the icing on an already very interesting cake.


End file.
